


i am sorry for the trouble, i suppose; my blood runs red but my body feels so cold

by imadetheline



Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [22]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Burns, Father-Son Relationship, FebuWhump2021, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: febuwhump day twenty-two - burns
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140389
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding, febuwhump 2021





	i am sorry for the trouble, i suppose; my blood runs red but my body feels so cold

**Author's Note:**

> title from organs by of monsters and men
> 
> i'm not sure what this is and I'm not super happy with it but I'm trying to finish up the febuwhump prompts so here's this

Darth Vader is accustomed to burning, to feeling the flames lick over his skin, consuming everything in their path. They fill his thoughts, his pain a daily reminder of lava and hatred and heat, even if his presence has long since turned cold. Burning is familiar. It no longer scares him as it used to.

But when he sees the blistering wounds covering his son’s hands, his heart tears, and he is afraid. He’s supposed to keep Luke safe. After so many years of hurting him, all he has left is protecting his son. And he’s failed again. A ship in the hangar had exploded, and Luke had been there, had thrown up his hands, and held back the flames long enough for everyone else to flee. It’s only the last in a long line of hurt for his son.

And Vader is no longer allowed the luxury of wondering when it all went wrong or whose fault it is. He knows, and that is his curse.

Luke looks up at him from the medbay cot, his hands held out to the medic that flits around, her fear loud and buzzing in the Force, and he smiles softly, sensing Vader’s thoughts, “I’m alright, father. It wasn’t your fault.”

And Vader almost smiles at the boy’s naivete. Luke is ever forgiving and kind, his eyes bright, but he shouldn’t be. It’s all Vader’s fault. Someday Luke will understand that. Vader prays he’s not alive to see it; he doesn’t want to witness his son’s hate for him.

But there’s no arguing with Luke when he believes something--he’s as stubborn as both his parents, a fact Vader laments daily--so Vader says nothing, just looks down at Luke’s prosthetic, stripped of burnt synthskin, metal gleaming in the harsh light--another thing that’s his fault. Sometimes he can barely look at his son without seeing everything he’s done to him.

Luke flexes his bandaged flesh hand and winces but stands before Vader can demand he sit back down. “Why didn’t you run?” Vader asks, but he already knows the answer.

And Luke glances up at him as if it’s obvious, or should be, “I wasn’t going to leave them there.”

But Vader is still a Sith, if only barely, if only because he clings to their ideas with no real belief in them--a follower in only words--so he says, “They were only mechanics--easily replaced. You, my son, are not.” They’re empty, and he already knows what Luke’s response will be. It’s a script they follow, wooden and rote.

Luke just looks away from him, his face soot-stained and shields raised tightly, and he smiles at the still fearful mechanic cleaning up bacta and bandages. “Thank you,” he says, smiling kindly, and she smiles thinly back, tension still evident in her shoulders. Vader can tell she just wants them to leave. 

And Luke can too because he strides past Vader, across the medbay, frowning, and grabs his charred jacket from another cot. Vader follows after him; each step feels wooden. He knows it weighs on Luke: the loneliness that comes from being Darth Vader’s son. The mechanics, officers, troopers, medics, anyone Luke might find to talk to is scared of being dealt death for even looking at him wrong. So he spends hours working on ships in the hangar alone, training against droids. Vader knows Luke resents it, resents the isolation that comes from their relationship. But Vader doesn’t know how to be a father.

Luke doesn’t respond until they’re in the almost empty hall, walking back towards Luke’s quarters through uniform grey halls, “They’re people, father: people with lives and families who love them.” It’s barely a whisper, almost softer than Vader’s respirator, but the words sting anyway. Vader can hear the implication there: that he doesn’t love Luke. But Vader can say nothing to correct it. He’s long forgotten the taste of those three words on his tongue. They burned to ash years ago.

So Vader doesn’t respond, just walks beside his son down the halls. With every word he doesn’t say, he can feel everything deteriorating. He’s already forgotten his ambitions for the galaxy. All he wants is family, but he doesn’t remember how.

Luke’s still trying. He’d turned himself in, and he has access to all the ships he could ever want, and yet he stays, for his father. But day in and day out, nothing changes, and Vader cannot give Luke what he’d hoped for. His son’s shields are always raised.

He glances down at Luke’s metal hand, still uncovered, his black jacket clenched between the fingers. “I can have parts sent up for you to repair your hand, if you’d like,” Vader says into the heavy silence, trying to bridge the gap that feels like it’s ever-widening.

Luke doesn’t look at him, his blue eyes fixed firmly ahead, “Thank you.”

Vader’s never felt more powerless. But he stops at Luke’s quarters, watching his son open the door with barely a thought. It hisses open, revealing the room beyond, yet neither makes a move to enter or walk away. The respirator fills the silence. Finally, “I’m sorry, Luke.”

And his son looks up at him, smiling sadly, “So am I.” But the words don’t sound accusatory. Vader barely has time to wonder at that before he realizes Luke has let his shields fall the slightest bit. And the light shining there almost blinds Vader. Luke smiles, and then he’s gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

Vader’s left standing alone in the hall, wondering at the light he felt locked behind his son’s shields. He hadn’t thought there was that much light left in the galaxy. And when had Luke become so good at hiding it?

But he’s still not surprised when, in the middle of the night cycle, he feels Luke’s presence flit across the Executor and disappear into hyperspace. He makes no move to stop him, to follow him. All ambition and anger have been sucked into an endless well of grief and emptiness; the loss of Luke is only one more thing to add to his guilt. He doesn’t blame his son for leaving. 

  
But when Vader finds a solitary note scribbled on flimsiplast in Luke’s quarters when he dares to venture there, he is surprised. Written on it: _I have a plan._ _I’m coming back. Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone. - Luke._ And suddenly, the light, the hope, behind Luke’s shields make more sense. It echoes in the Force, a promise that Vader’s heart can no longer comprehend. But maybe he can try, for Luke’s sake.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


End file.
